


142 - Secrets = Angst

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 10:30:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17405267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompts “something where you and van are discussing marriage and you keep turning down the idea because you’re infertile and van doesn’t know yet, and you finally tell him he’s super sweet and talks about how he was a test tube baby and how adoption is always an option and that kinda thing?”  and “one where you and van get into a fight before one of his gigs and you can tell on stage he’s upset about it but fluffy end?”





	142 - Secrets = Angst

It wasn't exactly logical to assume that because Van was a test tube baby that somehow when he tried for his own kids that it would just happen. Maybe it was something about lightning not striking twice in the same place, but you never anticipated having trouble falling pregnant. Van was home for a couple of months, and the plan was to try for a baby then. The timing, if successful, would work out well. When you would be around the six month mark, he'd have time off from touring. It didn't happen though. You tried very, very hard. Every night. Every way. Van was unworried, just figured it would take time. He left for the States without thinking about it again. It wasn't as easy for you to just drop it though.

A string of appointments with doctors and specialist confirmed what you feared most. You were infertile. As they explained the cause, you tuned out. Whatever was wrong, it was irreparable and it was set to tear your life apart. Van wanted children. It was literally his life goal. You couldn't give him that, so what value did you have to him then? Your friends told you that he loved you, was in love with you, and that alone meant more than anything else. They reminded you that a woman is worth more than her womb. You wanted to truly believe both, but the first seemed like a lie, and the second somehow didn't apply to you.

Van came back from tour with the sound of wedding bells following him. You did your best to dodge the question and had to outright tell him to not propose anytime soon. Lie after lie came from you, and the feeling of impending doom grew. You accepted that you'd have to break up with Van, throw away the years you'd spent together. It would be easier for you to be the one to do it. Having him turn around and say 'well, Y/N, since you can't give me kids you may as well fuck off' was a fate you could not face. As soon as you had decided on breaking up, you changed and Van sensed it.

"Have I done something?" he asked when you sat on a different lounge chair to him. You shook your head no in reply. "Why are you avoidin' me then?"

"I'm not,"

"Oh you're not? You literally slept on the couch last night, Y/N. What the fuck is happening?"

Calming him down with promises everything was alright, and gentle hand holding and neck kissing, you felt like a fucking imposter. It wasn't your life. He wasn't yours to touch.

…

Catfish were doing a show close to home, and you sat in the green room and watched them prepare. Benji cut his nails into a bin. Bob sat with headphones in, tapping away onto an electric drum pad. Bondy had disappeared somewhere. Van and Larry sat side by side smoking and laughing about something. You were next to Van, and when he tried to pull you onto his lap, you pushed him away hard.

"Y/N! What the fuck is wrong with you? You said everythin' was alright but you're still being so fucking moody,"

"Fuck you. I'm not moody," you replied in a mumble, shrugging.

"You definitely are," Larry added laughing. You looked over at him, ready to explode. Van stood and pulled you up. His grip on your hand was tight enough to hurt, but you felt you deserved it so you said nothing. He dragged you down a hallway and around a corner.

"Talk," he demanded.

"I don't want- There's nothing to talk about. I'm fine,"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N," he said and turned away from you. He hitched his jeans up and held his hands on his hips. "Something happened," he started again, trying to remain calm. He turned back to you. "Right? When I was gone?"

"Nothing happened,"

"Something fucking happened and now you're all…" he waved his heads at your general existence.

"All what? If you don't like who I am anymore, then just fucking break up with me," you dared. He stopped.

"Is that what you want?" The way he looked at you was terrifying. He wasn't about to drop it, and he wasn't about to lose you. He'd fight until you spat out the truth. Then, there were voices in the hallway. Someone called out for Van. Showtime. He took a step around the corner and gave a wave. "Coming, mate!" Back to you, he was all intensity. "Is it?" he asked again. You shook your head. They called for Van again. "Don't you fucking leave, okay? If I get off stage and you've wandered off somewhere to be all fuckin' moody…"

You said nothing, and let him take your hand again. You followed Van down the hallway and to where people were waiting for him. The guys glanced at each other nervously, sensing something was wrong. They were hoping it would not affect Van on stage. Their fear, like yours, came true. Don't they fucking always. As you watched from side of stage, Van performed differently.

He moved around as normal, clearly trying to rid himself of the anger he was feeling. He couldn't regulate his voice though. The lyrics fell from his lips with less love and it sounded effortful for him to bother. No howls, no laughs between lines, and significantly less thanking.

"You've got to fix this before next show," Larry said. He'd just come off stage after fixing the mic stand Van threw violently, narrowly missing Benji.

You stood back against a wall as the show ended and Van climbed down from the tower of amps he'd ascended during Tyrants. Out of the eye of the crowd, he came over to you. He caught a towel thrown to him and wiped his hair and face.

"I'm sorry," you said.

"For what?"

"…For making you mad before you had to go on stage,"

"Don't think people noticed anything different," he said with a shrug. It was unlike him to not care about a weaker performance.

"Larry did,"

"Yeah, but course he would. You would. He would. Nobody else. It's fine. Come on. We're going home."

…

You sat at the table in the kitchen watching Van smoke. He watched you watching him, then he smirked.

"You haven't stopped loving me," he said. You nodded in agreement. "You don't want to move out. You don't want me to tour less. You do fucking want to get married. You got one of them Pin board things about it,"

"Pinterest,"

"Yeah. Whatever. Point is," he said pointing across the table at you. "You love me and I've not done a thing to fuck this up. So what happened?"

You chewed your lip and looked around the room. Maybe the right words would be spelt out on the fridge with the alphabet magnets. No such luck. "Um… You know how we tried to… tried for a baby, or whatever, before you left?"

"Yeah," he answered slowly, losing the self-righteous smile.

"Well… Just thought it was weird that we tried so hard but nothing happened… So, I went to the doctor," you spoke slowly to let yourself breathe between words. Or maybe you were giving yourself a couple more seconds before Van would fall out of love with you. "And… uh… I can't… have… kids… Like, at all." Your head hung, and you closed your eyes. Tears had started to roll down your face. There was silence, first. Counting the seconds before impact, you got to five. Then, Van laughed. Your head snapped up. He stopped when he saw your tears. Van moved from his seat to kneel in front of you. He put his cigarette out and held your face in his hands, wiping away tears with his shirt sleeve.

"Firstly, you can't fuckin' dramatically pause after saying you went to the doctor. Thought you were about to tell me you're fuckin' dying. Christ, Y/N. Secondly, is that all?"

"What?"

"That's it? That's what you've been weird about? Not being able to have kids?"

"You… You've always wanted kids," you whispered, confused and maybe a little hurt that it was a joke to him.

"Yeah. So did my dad, then he got me. Babe, there's a million ways we can have kids. We can adopt 'cause you always say there's too many kids that need better parents or whatever. And, all test tube babies I know are amazing!"

"You're the only test tube baby you know,"

"Exactly. Amazing," he replied, grinning again. "Y/N. You should have just told me. Could have saved you a world of worry, yeah? We'll have babies. Don't matter how we get them." He stood up and looked down at you. "Come here," he said and pulled you to a standing position so he could hug you hard. "I fucking love you, and we're gonna get married and have it all. Yeah? No more secrets,"

"Okay,"

"Okay. And, like, you're not actually sick or anything?" he asked, and you shook your head. "Okay. See? We're all good."

Van ran you a bath and sat next to it and listened as you told him about the cause of your infertility, and therefore lack of treatment. Discussing other options, you reasoned that you had the money to try IVF, but were both scared of the heartbreak that could be born of that in place of children. In the end, adoption seemed like the right choice. It was also expensive, but you felt good about providing a home to children that needed it.

Clean and warm and finally free from the dread and fear you'd been carrying around for months, you fell asleep quickly tucked into bed with Van. He kissed your forehead and sighed happily, chuckling one last time at the thought that he'd ever break up with you for something like that.


End file.
